Unbounded
by Ellouis
Summary: The Dwarves of the Ironhills were bewildered when their Lord, Dáin II Ironfoot, cousin of Thorin Oakenshield, returned home with a young-red headed elven child after the ruin of Erebor. Follow the story of Mithril, an elf with a dwarf's heart as she is set into an era where evil has returned, and the only way to save the world is to be far from the only place she called home.
1. PROLOGUE

It was the night of T.A 2770, in the reign of King Thrór, a dark day that plunged Erebor in fire, a day when the Dwarves and the Men of Dale lost their lives. A sea of flame filled the great city, while an ebony-scaled dragon loomed in the evening sky, covering the city in darkness. Smaug burned mighty buildings to the ground, and left anybody who dared to escape unscathed. Smoke and fire filled the skies, covering the stars.

From the valley of the Withered Heath came the dragon Smaug, whose desire was for Erebor's riches consisting of glittering mountains of gold and treasure. It was an unforeseen event. Many died from the fire drake's siege, and the great city fell into ruin. Alas, the king, who had barely escaped through a secret entrance, left with his son Thráin II and his grandson Thorin, accompanied by a band of loyal followers. The company went southwards, but promised to return once more to reclaim the fallen city when the time had come

 **...**

The news about the Sack of Erebor spread fast in Middle-earth, and when morning had finally come, Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, and cousin to Thorin, went out in hopes of saving the lives of those who had survived. He was aware of the dangers, but his heart could not bear to see such suffering from his kin. Along with his men, clad in their iron mail, they rode east towards the city of Erebor.

In a far distance, the grey smoke that rose from the burned towers filled the hazy blue sky. A pungent smell lingered in the air, and Dáin frowned at the sight that laid before him. The Khazâd of Erebor were now homeless, their clothes torn, and their faces grim and fear-stricken. There were not many of them left. Dáin unmounted his boar, and walked towards the remaining dwarves of Erebor who quickly took notice of him.

"Ay...it has been a long night." Dáin removed his iron helm and looked at the throng of dwarves before him. "You are all welcome to live in the Iron Hills. You may have lost your homes, but fear not, for there is always a new beginning," he said, encouraging the dwarves in the best way he could.

The short speech of Dáin uplifted the spirits of those who remained, and an echo of thanks followed, their eyes gleaming with tears of gratitude.

"For now the evil dragon resides in the Lonely Mountain, what will become of the king?" Dáin worried deeply for his relatives, more so for the cousin he thought of as a brother.

Dáin watched as the survivors were led towards the Iron Hills, but he remained for there was a strange feeling tugging his nerves, as if telling him he needed to stay.

A soft cry was heard near the fallen towers at the entrance towards the kingdom. Dáin reminded himself that this was as far as he would go. With anxious steps, he looked for the origin of the voice, and with his sharp ears he found the voice coming from under a huge slab of rock from a jagged tower.

"Tua amin..." a little voice cried out in Elvish.

The voice was apparently in deep pain and Dáin made no haste to uncover the elf trapped under the rubble. With great effort, Dáin began to remove the chunks of rock that covered a much bigger form; a grown elf who shielded a much younger one. It was apparent that the male elf died protecting the child, Dáin found that there was too much sadness in a day. With sympathy, Dáin looked at the terrified elf-child.

The lord of the Iron Hills wondered why two elves would wander into Erebor on such an unfortunate day.

Tears welled in her clear grey eyes. The silver dress she wore was already in tatters, and she was covered in bruises and wounds, but she fared better than the elf that laid dead beside her.

She tried to wake the elf, but to no avail. He was already dead.

"Ada?" she cried, embracing the man who Dáin identified to be her father.

The elves were indeed fair and young-looking, unlike the race of men and dwarves. The elf had a fair complexion, long black hair and a slim build. The young elf on the other hand had beautiful red tresses and ivory skin.

Dáin could not leave the child alone, not when the city was in ruin, not when a dragon lurked within the Lonely Mountain. Cautiously, Dáin sat beside the young elf and patted her back awkwardly, for it was unknown to him the ways of the elves when it came to comforting their brethren.

"I-I do not understand Elvish, or whatever you call it. But I do know for certain that you are sad and alone," he comforted. The child did not respond, but she looked disheartened and at the verge of tears.

Dáin found himself in a terrible situation-here was the descendant of Durin, the lord of the Iron Hills and a seasoned warrior who had fought in many battles, unable to comfort a mere elf child.

"Ada..." she cried, and soft, translucent tears fell down her cheeks. The elf child grieved, and Dáin sat there speechless and clueless of what to do.

"Don't cry." He patted the child's back. "If it pleases you, I can be your Ada?"

"Mani ume lle quena?" She wiped her tears and looked at Dáin, but her blue eyes still held sadness. Dáin still could not understand what the child was saying, and though his men might be worrying, he could not leave just yet.

Dáin could not think of any way for them to communicate, and he could not make her come with him when her father laid dead on the cold stone.

Repeating his words, Dáin hoped the child would understand what he was trying to say.

"If it pleases you, I can be your Ada?"

But she frowned, and Dáin wondered if his choice of words was wrong.

"My lord."

Dáin looked up and saw his friend, Bor, who had thick brown hair and a pointed beard. He looked at the child and then to the male elf.

"Right on time, my friend. Why not carry the body of her father? We cannot just leave him here, for she apparently would not come with us."

"But my lord, she is an elf," Bor mouthed silently, hoping the child did not hear.

But Dáin caught the slight movement of her pointed ears, and it was known to him that the Elf-folk had keen senses. Before Dáin could attempt to reason or explain, the young elleth fell and fainted. Dáin instantly caught her with a swift swoop, and he knew what had caused such a happening.

Although his race did not think highly of the elves, Dáin personally did not bear any sort of hatred towards them, and to rumors he listened that when elves lose a loved one, death may soon come knocking at their doorstep.

"My lord, do we leave the body?" Bor asked with a masked expression.

Dáin knew his friend had a disdain for elves, and this he understood. "I understand that it is against your will, but we must honor her father's death; it is by my order.

"Bor did not make any complaint, but he could not hide his emotions well. More dwarves assisted Bor with the same reactions, but Dáin paid them no heed.

In his arms, the child wept unconsciously. Dáin felt a strong desire to protect her; he wondered why such a feeling crept into his heart, it was unlikely, unthinkable-even for a dwarf. but Dáin felt it was right, and he had decided.

"Ada..." she mumbled, and Dáin looked at her with warm eyes and a small smile.

"I can be your Ada."

And the lord of the Iron Hills returned home with an elf child, a first for the dwarves of Middle-earth.

 **A/N**

 **I would like to thank a good friend of mine, airwren (You can find her on Watttpad) she has provided me good council and I love her so much!**

 **The story will be a combination of the two great storylines: The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings, so there may be parts from the books, some parts from the movie, and some parts which I've altered completely (or given my own version, of course all rights reserved to our great master Tolkien) I've decided to post this story on this site as well, you could find my account on wattpad Cinnamonkaye :D thankyouuu 3**

 _ **Elf phrases used :**_

 _ **Tua Amin - Help Me**_

 _ **Mani ume lle quena - What did you say?**_

 _ **Ada - Father**_


	2. CHAPTER I : Gandalf's Letter

Many years had passed since the great city of Erebor fell into ruin, a timeline lost in flames, and a legend told to many. Now the dwarves were known to not get in touch with relatives for many years; it was a custom, a culture well seeped into the blood of the Khazad. For the lord of the Iron Hills, it had been 60 years since he last saw his cousin. Perhaps even more, for he was not known to be the particular type, but time had aged him well. His auburn hair now had strands of white, and youth could no longer be seen in his complexion. But the middle-aged dwarf kept his strength in battle fresh, and his mind open to knowledge.

Dáin sat on his throne, elbows propped on both sides, and his gaze on the burning hearth. His head was filled with negative thoughts. He seldom felt any sort of fear, but the letter that arrived in the early morning caused him much anxiety. The letter came from Gandalf— a rare occurrence.

"Thirteen dwarves and a burglar, a quest to reclaim Erebor?!" Dáin scoffed, not because he was arrogant, but because he knew that the quest was deemed to be impossible. The lord sighed in defeat. "Thranduil will surely hear about this. The elves always mix themselves in business they aren't supposed to mingle with. Nonetheless, if they shall ever call for help, I will gladly send my men for their aid."

It was apparent to the inhabitants of Middle-earth the bitter resentment between the Elves and Dwarves, and though Dáin did not like the wood-elves that much, he had never hated the elf race in general— for he loved an elf who he now called his child.

His brown eyes twinkled at the sight of an elf with flaming red hair run through the halls of the Iron Hills, the only elf he had loved so much, his jewel.

"Mithril!"

He laughed, his mood instantly lightened at the sight of his daughter. Memories of how they first coped with their cultural differences flooded his mind; he remembered the first days when communication was difficult and puzzling. The child would curse at him in Elvish, and he would laugh for he could not understand.

"Where have you been, my child? Have you been out hunting with Bor?" Dáin asked, and he remembered how much Bor had hated the child. But he soon grew to love her, as did all those who lived in the Iron Hills. It was a milestone for the dwarves of Middle-earth, or so Dáin believed.

Mithril stood in front of him, the elven child he adopted. Gone was the little elf of the past who barely survived the siege. She stood mighty in her dwarven armor: an iron chainmail partnered with steel boots. Her red hair stood out like the sun setting in the afternoon. If they stood side by side, he would look like a hobbit, for she had the height of the elves, and all their beautiful features.

"Aye, Thorin also came with us! it was a pleasant hunt," Mithril announced, her voice strong yet sweet to the ears.

Dáin laughed, but his smile was soon wiped by the letter he was most concerned about. Mithril noticed the abrupt change, and could not hide her worry.

"Father, what has happened? it is unlike you to act this way." She knelt in front of him, her gaze unwavering, and there was strength found in her steel-grey eyes.

He sighed yet again and looked away, for her eyes pierced right into his soul. "Gandalf has sent word about the reclamation of Erebor. I am troubled, for this quest will not go unnoticed— there are those who desire the riches of Erebor, and I feel that if ever Thorin is successful, those who have long desired the treasures will fight for their greed. Now if ever it comes to it-"

"I will fight with you."

Once again Dáin's heart filled with a pleasant warmth. Rash words for an elf, he thought. Well, not an elf by heart. He smiled. But he felt the need to emphasize his point.

"Mithril, war is not something easily reckoned with. There are those who do not wish to lose their lives on the battlefield, my child. Life is precious, therefore you must cherish it." He placed his hand on her cheek.

"Meldamiriel, amin mela lle."

She was the only one who knew Dáin learned the Elvish language for her, and it was only him who knew her real name, the name given to her by her real parents. Meldamiriel, meaning precious jewel. A name fitting for the child who had become the jewel of his eyes.

He saw the translucent tears form in her eyes, and with all her heart she whispered: _"Amin mela lle, Ada."_

 ** _To Be Continued..._**

 ** _A/N_**

 **So here we have the first initial interaction of** **the elf and dwarf father and daughter tandem (whoooo) I think its really cute for our warm dwarf lord to have learned the elven language for Mithril (yasssss dad goals) btw to not get anyone confused, Dáin has a son named Thorin III (different from the Thorin Oakenshield we all love) anyways expect more to come, and more parts of The Hobbit explored (added with a twist of my own version to it) in the upcoming chapters!**

 **More and more love for those who read my stories (my precious babies )**

 ** _Elven Phrases Used_**

 ** _Amin_** **_mella_** **_lle - I love you_**

 ** _Ada - Father_**


	3. CHAPTER II : The Troubled Elf

It was a chilly night in the Ironhills, the stars were hidden by a veil of thick clouds, but the moon was visible, giving its dim radiance. On the highest tower made from stone, overlooking the vast terrain, stood a red-haired elf.

Mithril looked at the mass of land beyond their home, east from the Ironhills was the ruined city of Erebor, she could still feel the painful memories lingering in her heart and soul. She was a child back then, at the age of 20 when she lost her real father, and sadly Mithril can no longer remember his face nor the sound of his voice. Now at the age of 80, Mithril has reached her maturity, and the many years with the dwarves had molded her into their customs and mannerism, but she would admit that she missed the sight of her kin.

Mithril smiled when she looked at the Ironhills, the tall looming gates made of Iron and stone, the bridges and towers that were made by the excellent hands of the dwarves. This was her home now, and in her heart she believed that the dwarves were her family. Gladly she would die for them, Mithril could not understand why her father would not allow her to fight alongside him when the situation calls for it. She loved him more than anything.

Dáin knows that Mithril is a capable fighter, he taught her himself, but as the elders have said, there are no great warriors in the battlefield, only fighters with the will to live, and perhaps Dáin felt the need to keep Mithril away from any danger. Mithril looked at the skies once more with a sullen expression, the heavy footsteps of iron boots caused sound waves to echo in her ears, Mithril sat up straight and waited for her visitor with small smile.

"And what are you doing out here in the darkness, lass?" a familiar voice asked, Mithril smiled and looked at her brother; _Thorin_.

"I would like to ask the same to you," she replied as she patted the spot beside her. "Come sit with me _, gultalut."_ and Thorin laughed at Mithril's endearment. Thorin made no haste to sit beside his friend and his Khazush.

"What troubles you, my friend?" he asked, as he bit into a chicken leg which he took from his pocket.

Mithril sighed and looked at her navy blue tunic, as if the color matched her emotions perfectly.

"Have you heard of Gandalf?" Mithril spoke with an unsure voice. "Ah, is it the old wizard you speak of?" Thorin replied with his ever joyous voice.

"And what is it about the old wizard and the queer magic business?" he laughed with a cheerful tone, "Don't tell me you dream of becoming one of em'." Thorin joked but his laugh died when he saw that Mithril did not react at all. "This is unlike ya." he said with bewilderment, as he took the last bite from his food.

"Word has come from Gandalf, the wizard you speak of, that Thorin Oakenshield is on a quest to reclaim Erebor," Mithril paused. "Father said that there are many evil men driven by greed who would wage wars just to claim a piece of treasure-"

"Then we would fight alongside our father!" Thorin intervened, "What is there to worry about?"

"And that was what I told him, Thorin."

"Then what are ye worryin abo-"

"He does not allow me to fight with him, he is afraid."

Thorin kept quiet, as if gathering the right words to say to his sister. Thorin reached out his hand towards Mithril's shoulder, "It is because he loves you, he does not want to see you get hurt."

"But what if he gets hurt?" Mithril cried out, Thorin chuckled at her statement. "My sister, you underestimate our father! he is a great warrior! have faith, and besides, there are many dwarves who would protect him- he is their lord, and he is well respected."

Mithril could not find the need to argue with Thorin, Mithril knew that Thorin was right, Dáin would not be easily slain, she thought to herself as Thorin babbled about old memories they had both shared growing up.

 _ **To Be Continued...**_

 _ **A/N**_

 **And here is the strong relationship the children of Dáin both share! anyways I write really fast when I am inspired so expect quick updates (or maybe not, it depends lol) Oh and as I've said before Dáin has a son named Thorin, which is different from The king under the mountain xD I'm taking my time to construct my story aligned with the two storylines ^-^ so Ciao~**

 _ **Dwarf Phrases/Words**_

 _ **Gultatut - tiny boar**_

 _ **Khazush - sister**_


	4. CHAPTER III : Fire with Fire

Mithril found herself in the armory, where excellently crafted axes, swords, mallocks, and an assortment of weapons laid. Steel and iron chain-mails lined up in their stands. Helmets, boots, plate armors, and other forms of protection were lined up as well- a splendid sight for the Dwarves of the Ironhills.

With her nimble fingers, Mithril traced the outlines of the dark ebony mail that stood out from the rest. "It is such a beautiful color." she commented with an interested smile.

"But nothing could compare to anything made from the purest type of silver, from an ore priceless as its beauty."

Dáin walked in with his most trusted companions; Bor, Fulli, Bran. Dáin smiled at his companions, stout and hardy dwarves who wore the best iron mails. Fulli and Bran were excellent fighters as they were also twins. While Bor on the other hand was excellent in another field, for Bor desired knowledge, it was his most beloved treasure. This was why he and Dáin became good friends.

"Aye, my lord. Nothing can beat Mithril, the purest and strongest metal in the face of Middle-Earth. "

Mithril grinned from ear-to-ear, as if they were talking about her and not some type of mineral. Dáin caught his daughter's grin and he chuckled.

"My friends," he paused and looked at Mithril, "And you all probably know why I named her after such a magnificent piece of treasure."

"Truly she is, my lord." Fulli added, Mithril gave out a joyous laugh as she awaited for Bor's statement, the dwarf she was the closest with.

"Now now, we are showerin' her with too many compliments," Bor cutted in with a mischievous grin, looking at Mithril with his laughing green eyes, "But I could not agree more, our little elf has grown into a lovely la-"

"I remember the days when Bor would come at me and say he hated ya, lil' one!" Bran laughed and made fun of Bor, "But look at him, he has grown to love ya, lass!" Bor smacked Bran with his gauntlet, but the two laughed it off as they had always.

Dáin walked towards and looked at Mithril with a fatherly gaze. "As all of us had! My child, you are dwarf at heart."

"And that is true!" Mithril beamed, as they all shared their laughter. Mithril stood taller than the four dwarves, but they did not mind, it did not hinder the loving respect they all had for each other. Mithril followed her father with Bor, Fulli, and Bran towards the training grounds. After a set of tunnels and grand staircases, they soon found themselves in the spacious training grounds lit by the towering stone pillars where the torches were perched.

There were many dwarves who sparred with each other, skilled and strong were the dwarves when it comes to close-range battles. They wielded the axe and sword, proficient they were with the bladed weapons, but the dwarves did not favour the use of bows as much, which is why Mithril did not know how to use one at all.

"I would like to see our lord fight like the old days, he was the best among us all!" Bran turned to Dáin and encouraged him. Dáin could not hold his excitement at the sudden proposal. "It has been so long, who would duel with me?" he asked and almost all the dwarves in the training grounds dropped their weapons in hopes to be chosen as a worthy contender.

Mithril raised her arm with an enthusiastic smile, and the commotion died. Bor and the two looked like they swallowed a huge fly, even Dáin lost the smile he had, for he was surprised. Silence reigned in the spacious place. Mithril picked up one of the swords the dwarves dropped, and walked towards Dáin with eyes that held determination.

Dáin's brown eyes stared at Mithril's grey ones, he could not believe that she would be the one challenging him, his look sold it all. His surprised face was instantly replaced by a proud smile.

"Now there's the child I raised!" he chuckled, he picked up a nearby sword as well in a second, and those that watched them both gave them enough space to duel while cheering merrily with their loud voices.

"Do not get to full of yourself," Dáin playfully reminded, Mithril smirked, and in an instant, the two clashed their iron swords, creating a deafening sound of clashing metal. Mithril was strong, she took pride in being trained by the best of the best; her Ada.

Mithril defended herself with a quick counter-attack when Dáin attempted an assault.

In the eyes of the dwarves, it was as if everything they had seen was purely fantasy. Both warriors were amazing, skilled, and strong. Mithril displayed her grace in fighting, which made the dwarves admire her in her prowess. Dáin on the other hand proved that nobody else was fit to be lord of the Ironhills but himself, it was truly a sight to behold. It was fire against fire, the ringing of metal swords was music to their ears, the dwarves watched as the battle reached its climax, Mithril was about to throw in a move she knew would defeat Dáin.

Alas, in a careless move, Mithril was tripped by Dáin's outstretched foot, causing her to stumble forward.

"Hahahahahahaha!" laughter erupted in the halls and Mithril stood up with a sour expression. The match was over with Dáin's playful tactic, but the young elf was not happy at all with the results. "That's unfair! You tripped me!" she complained but Dáin gave her a lesson she should soon apply if she were to fight in the upcoming war.

"Mithril, there is no such thing as being unfair in the battlefield," he gave her a disheartened frown. "My child, this is why I would not allow you to fight in the battles to come-not yet, that is. You are too young and naive to realize the harsh realities of the battlefield."

But Mithril could not hold the humiliation she felt, not it front of everyone she knew. She dropped her sword and ran away, after giving Dáin a pained look. The dwarves who had witnessed the scene could not help but talk about Mithril's sudden behavior. Dáin politely asked them to continue training, and so they did as they were told.

Bor stepped in and placed a hand on Dáin's shoulder.

"You cannot keep her locked forever. She is mature enough to realize these things herself. She has witnessed it beforehand, you above all, know this."

Anger swept Dáin as he looked at Bor who remained steadfast with his opinion. Fulli and Bran stood with Bor, and Dáin could not accept the fact that even his closest friends thought so too.

Dáin sighed as he realized his sudden act of belligerence towards his friends. He looked at the three with a warm gaze. "I apologize..."

"Well... we could not blame Mithril, after all, you two are very alike." Bor joked, "What would you expect if she were raised by the stubbornest of all the Dwarves of Aule!" and the four laughed just like they would usually do.

Dáin grinned at his companions. "That explains a whole lot!"

"Well then go talk to her, Dáin!" Bor urged, and the lord of the Ironhills went after his beloved daughter.

To Be Continued...

A/N

Mithril is still immature, since she has been cooped in the Ironhills for too long, and well she'll be given the proper character development soon ;) anyways the following chapters will give hints about Mithril's hidden ancestry (which she has not yet known of) better watch out! whooooo


	5. CHAPTER IV : Gilda

Mithril ran away from the scene, she did not expect her father to humiliate her like that. With her nimble elf feet, she was able to make it past through the second great hall which had a short-cut leading to her quarters.

A lot of dwarves found it strange to see Mithril running like she was being chased, out of sheer carelessness, Mithril stumbled upon someone on her way to her room.

"Ayeee, this child!" Gilda exclaimed.

Gilda in all her bearded glory was the wife of Dáin, and the mother of Thorin. Gilda had brown hair with braids held by metal bands, she had blue eyes, and a beard that was somehow a lighter shade than her hair. She wore a blue dress, partnered with emeralds and saphires.

"And what are ye doin' runnin around like a wild boar?!" she complained in the common tongue, which surprised Mithril.

Mithril almost forgot the rage she had bottled in. The dwarves were not well-versed in the common tongue, they would often break the phrases into easier versions. In the Ironhills, Mithril spoke in Khudzul, or the dwarven language, but she could speak in the language of the men, and of course her original elven language. Mithril wanted to giggle but Gilda's angry face warned her not to.

Out of all the dwarves that accepted her in the Ironhills, it was only Gilda who did not. The bearded dwarf resented Mithril, and that she understood since Dáin took it upon himself to become Mithril's adoptive father, which Gilda was strongly against.

Mithril did not mind though, for the dwarf-lady did not do her any harm. Suddenly Mithril felt a sharp pain in her arm, she checked it out and found a small scrape which she might've acquired from Gilda's sharp jewels upon their collision.

Gilda immediately noticed Mithril's wound, and her frown disappeared completely.

"Y-you are hurt." she examined the wound carefully. "It's just a scratch, it will be gone soo-"

"Nonsense, you must get it treated." and to Mithril's surprise Gilda lead her to the Hall of the Injured with her strong arms.

Mithril sat on a wooden stool as Gilda treated her wound with medical herbs. Mithril looked at Gilda with amazement, she could not believe that the dwarf who despised her so much would be treating her with such...care.

"You ought to take care of yourself, a pret-" she stopped mid-way and looked shocked at her choice of words.

"Gilda?" Mithril called out, wondering why she suddenly stopped talking. Gilda shook her head and placed the medicinal herbs where they belonged. "You are free to go, she-elf." and with that she walked away with a quickened pace, leaving a puzzled Mithril.

"What just happened?" Mithril asked herself in complete wonder, until she had realized of Dáin's pursuit of her. "Ah! I must leave before Ada finds me."

Mithril stealthily made her way towards her quarters, without being seen.

To Be Continued...

A/N

In reality I don't really think Gilda hates Mithril, in fact she likes her but has some sort of pride that keeps her from showing it (you know how dwarves are) anyways the next chapter will be a portion that reveals who Mithril really is *wink wink* Ciao~


	6. CHAPTER V : Anguirel

The hours had gone like the fallen leaves of Autumn. Mithril laid on her soft bed with navy sheets and plump soft pillows filled with quality feathers. Her grey eyes stared at the ash colored ceiling made of stone. Her face twisted into a frown, the sting of her humiliation was fresh, she felt embarrassed most of all for showing them such an immature attitude. She let out a heavy sigh, "He is right..., I am far too naive."

Mithril's ears perked up at the sound of heavy footsteps that came from metal boots, the soft clang of chain mail, and the heavy breathing of a dwarf she was certain she knew of: her father.

She did not make any move to get out of her room, not even to eat when her stomach rumbled in hunger. Mithril sat up, listening to the person behind her door. Mithril thought of how the others would worry about her missing dinner. The dwarves, regardless of the situation, never missed out on meals. Now she ought to be the talk of the Ironhills, "Argh, fool of a dwarf." Mithril hit herself with her fist, "Go dig a hole and throw yourself in Mithril." she cried to herself in utter annoyance.

"Mithril?" a male voice called out just outside her room. Mithril did not respond, pretending she did not hear him, she did not want to face him just yet. Other than feeling embarrassed, Mithril felt ashamed of herself.

With a softer voice, Dáin who stood at Mithril's door, called: "Meldamiriel..."

The mention of her elven name caused her to lose all composure, the urge to not make any contact lessened, and the love she felt for her father knocked within her heart. It was only Dáin who knew of her real name, and only to him it shall ever be known. A wave of relief washed Mithril's worries, and she felt her nerves calm down, for it was only Dáin who had the power to do such. It was his love for her that made her believe that there was still a life worth living.

"Amin hiraetha."

Dáin hoped that his child would open the door for him, and to his surprise, the last phrase he uttered broke the wall she built, for the door opened with a teary-eyed Mithril. His eyebrows arched in glee for he saw the same child who had always cried to him whenever she got bullied by Thorin and the other dwarves.

"Ahh, I knew that'll do it." he chuckled as he reached in for a hug with his short limbs. To Dáin's delight, Mithril hugged him in an instant, and he could no longer feel his feet on the ground for Mithril had lifted him up as she hugged him.

"My child, I do not like it when my feet are off the ground." he joked, and Mithril laughed as she wiped the tears in her eyes. Dáin looked at his daughter with love, "Looking at you like this makes me feel like not allowing you at all to go anywhere."

Mithril frowned like a little child, and Dáin was amused with her reaction. Mithril placed her father back on the ground, as she wiped away the few remaining tears in her eyes.

"Lle ume quel," Dáin smiled at Mithril, "That duel was great, you would have bested me if I did not trip you!"

"You flatter me too much father," Mithril grinned, "But I am honoured to have been complimented by you, nonetheless."

"Well now that apologies have been made, follow me!" he commanded, and Mithril looked at him with curiosity.

Dáin lead Mithril down many passages, and they arrived at the great smiths where the smell of metal and fire welcomed them both. Many dwarves, stout and bearded, worked their hammers with un-matched skill. Mithril always admired their craftsmanship partnered with their love for creating, and so came the time she began her training with the forge. The masters of the smiths were delighted, for the young elf learned quick, and would soon best them in their field of work.

Mithril passed by many gleeful dwarves who swinged their hammers with much ease, as they shaped and tempered their metal of choice. Now Mithril felt the inspiration to work on another piece of armor, but her ideas were cut short for Dáin began to reveal his surprise.

"I have prepared a gift for you." he said excitedly as Dáin urged Mithril to follow him.

The two entered a well locked chamber which could only be opened by the key that Dáin possessed. There was an assortment of excellently crafted weapons that lay on glassed cases, there were also unique sets of armor, with horned helms and painted gauntlets and boots. In the far right corner was a shirt that glittered like silver, Mithril went towards it, forgetting that she came here with her father.

The weapons of the dwarves consisted of well-forged iron and steel, Mithril's eyes gazed at the shiny mail that glowed with a great luminescent light, her fingers laced the silver shirt, her eyes absorbing the beautiful light it contained.

"Mithril!" she exclaimed, "This is the first time I've seen such beauty."

Mithril looked at Dáin with astonished eyes, "No wonder it is priceless!" she exclaimed "Its beauty resembles the twinkling white stars in a starry sky, truly it is a sight to behold." she smiled. "There are only a few left..." Dáin frowned, saddened by the thought. "But my child, there is something greater here in the legendary armory, and it is meant only for you."

In the center of the chamber laid a long sword encased in a black scabbard adorned with silver jewels and ancient elvish runes which Mithril could not decipher, for it had been centuries since she had studied of their lore, more so of the deep rooted language of the elves.

Dáin un-sheated the sword, revealing a beautiful ebony sword that would have matched the beauty of the evening skies. Mithril felt an instant connection with the sword, as if it was part of her memory, a remnant of her being.

Being a blacksmith in training, Mithril had a vast knowledge about the different metals found in Middle-Earth, she knew quite a lot. It was apparent to Mithril that the sword was indeed...strange, its metal was unknown to her, and she could feel that the sword was old—ancient even.

"Father, this sword... Its metal is not known to me." Mithril waited for a response, but Dáin looked hesitant to answer.

Finally, Dáin drew his breath and spoke. "It is made of Galvorn, forged with Eöl's high skill." Dáin paused to think about whether or not he would tell Mithril about his findings. It did not make any sense at all, the sword Anguirel was a weapon he had read from an old book upon growing up. It was a missing relic, a sword from the first age, rare and could only be forged by Eöl himself. Dáin questioned how the elf had come in possession with such an esteemed and ancient sword. Driven by his curiosity, Dáin researched on various books and accounts, it was not clear to him yet, but his findings were enough for him to make a deduction he doubted and feared.

Mithril could have been the last direct descendant of the once mighty bloodline of elves, the kings of Beleriand, the Golodhrim.

"This is the mate of the sword Anglachel, who Thingol, the elven king of Doriath wielded in battle. It is Anguirel, the sword of Eöl of Nan Elmoth."

Mithril drew her hand towards the sword, she felt a spark the moment her hands gripped its hilt. A question lingered in Mithril's mind, and she felt the need to ask Dàin about it.

"Who is this Eöl you speak of? and why is his sword hidden in the Ironhills?" Mithril asked as she sheated the sword in its scabbard with delicate care.

"It...It was your father's, Mithril," Dáin watched as happiness was sucked away by the revelation from Mithril's face. "Before we laid him to rest, I thought that he would've wanted you to have it."

Once again Mithril eyed the sword in all its ebony beauty. She could only make up bits of the memory but it was definitely her father's sword. Now she wanted to know how it came to her father's possession, but the young elf was far too happy to think about such thoughts, Mithril rejoiced, for in her hands was a fragment that reunited her with her real father. Tears gathered in the wells of her eyes and Mithril embraced the sword as if it was the last time she would hold it again.

Dáin could not bring himself to tell her what he had found out, he feared that Mithril would leave him, leave to find what might've been her destiny, of her heritage. He felt the inherent greed of the dwarven race, the same greed that brought insanity to Thorin's grandfather. Mithril was his jewel, his precious child, and he knew that it was wrong to keep the truth from her, but he held his tongue and kept his word. Mithril was too precious to him, too precious.

"I hope that you are happy with the sword." Dáin faked a cheerful laugh that might've seemed true to Mithril's ears for she was too happy to notice.

Mithril embraced her father, and Dáin could feel the wave of guilt in his heart, it was a selfish deed, truly he was a dwarf, he thought to himself.

To Be Continued...

"The things we do for love" quoting Dáin here *ehem ehem* anyways we have here an intriguing revelation regarding Mithril's ancestry *wink-wink* I'm giving a shout-out to my dear friend amerrychase, she's an awesome gal! I love u :DD (she also writes really well 3 *) Anyways more will be revealed so watch out! The battle of the five armies is coming ; (sooner or later, Thranduil will meet Mithril OOPPS!)

Elven words/phrases used

Amin Hiraetha - I am sorry

Galvorn - kinda like iron made from a meteor (Eöl forged it)

Anguirel - the sword of Eöl **Btw to those who don't know who Eöl is, Eöl is Lady Aredhel's husband (Fingolfin's only daughter)**


	7. CHAPTER VI : The Golden Dragon

Time had passed like a new page turning, months gone by and Dáin was growing anxious. He could sense the growing tension between the wood-elves of Mirkwood and the upcoming arrival of Thorin II Oakenshield with his crew of dwarves. Dáin watched on the balcony of his quarters which had the wonderful view of Erebor and Dale. His brown eyes matched the earthy soil, but were clouded by grey thoughts that the Lord of the Ironhills could not bear alone.

Gilda's loud snoring bothered him a great deal, he could not think properly and so he went out of his quarters and headed towards the towers where all his accounts and scrolls were stored.

Dáin's boots echoed on the deserted halls which were still lit by the hearth that gave an orange glow. His thoughts were mainly about his cousin and the growing guilt towards his daughter, Mithril. After giving her the sword of Eöl, he researched more about the elven ancestry of the Noldor, but he could not find any additional information that would confirm his speculations.

"Perhaps the elves would know, or would they?" Dáin pondered as he stroked his beard.

Dáin tried to focus on what was more important, and so he walked and thought of many things, for the lord of the Ironhills was never known to be rash unless his family's safety was at stake.

Dáin remembered his cousin all of a sudden, his heart quenched as he thought of the hardships Thorin had to go through, hardships he didn't bother to ease unless Erebor was claimed at last. Dáin frowned, "Perhaps I was wrong to not have accompanied him on his quest..., Ah!" he exclaimed, his voice ringing in the halls.

"Now if Thorin successfully reclaims Erebor, those tree-huggers will surely hear about it! Thranduil will not sit idly...," Dáin frowned yet again. "War may come and I would need to send aid."

Dáin looked upon the darkened sky, he felt weary as if there was something devious at hand, an evil spirit returning once more.

"Darkness reigns," he whispered, "There is something cold in the air, an evil more terrifying than the fire drake Smaug, an evil more terrifying than the horrors of war."

Alas the Dwarven Lord reached his tower, the _tower of knowledge_ as he would call it.

 **...**

The night was clear like the freshest springs, the stars lit up the sky like tiny silvery dusts spread out on a canvass of dark blue. The wind was chilly but a certain elleth felt no cold.

Red hair swayed in the air, like a wave of fire in the darkness. Steel grey eyes looked at the stars with adoration, her eyes gleaming.

Mithril adored the stars, it was a view she would never grow tired of. She loved everything about the sky at night, she loved the moon that glowed with a dim pure radiance, she loved how the dark sky brought the beauty of the stars to light.

In her right was the sword named Anguirel, the sword she felt a puzzling connection with. Mithril felt the need to know more about the sword, it felt like it wasn't just a sword a typical elf would possess. It felt like a link to the past, the only link to her lost family.

Speaking of family, Mitril always wondered if her remaining relatives even looked for her, or if there were any to begin with.

Mithril brushed the thoughts away with a simple head shake. She found the need to appreciate the unique beauty of nature, and not be preoccupied with thoughts that would only bring confusion and endless wonder.

A soft tune escaped her mouth, a love song she remembered from a distant memory. She tried to supply the tune with poetic words, but she failed for she could not sing of an emotion unknown to her; the romantic type of love.

Mithril often wondered if she would ever fall in love, perhaps she was too young, and perhaps it was not meant for her, she thought to herself.

"I wo-"

Mithtil trembled at the loud and monstrous roar that echoed in the night, goosebumps rose on her forearms and she felt chills run through her spine. Mithril could make up the figure that loomed high on the sky eastwards with her sharp eyes.

"Smaug..." Mithril felt the fear surge in her body, the fear she felt when she was a mere child, the fear of dragonfire.

Mithril watched as the dragon strangely coated in gold, flew towards Laketown with raging speed, with his wings casting a dark shadow to those below him.

Mithril stood up, "By my blood...," Golden-red fire came from Smaug's mouth, burning the wooden houses of Laketown to the ground, screams of anguish filled the air even in such a distance. Mithril found herself gazing at a sea of flames from afar.

"He has awoken, it has begun..."

 _ **To Be Continued...**_


End file.
